“What is your issue?!”
He shook his head, tossing his hands up in the air. “I don’t have one. Your issue is that you want me. That’s why I bother you so much. Live a little, Bianca. Let yourself have me,” he chuckled, sauntering up to me from down the hall.
“You are so full of yourself.”
“You don’t want me?”
I tipped my head back, looking up at him as he got in my personal space again, all delicious brown skin and muscles. But I ignored all that, and swallowed hard. “I don’t want you.”
“Then why,” he said, backing me into yet another wall. “Are you still here, Bianca? Nothing, nobody, is stopping you from leaving… unless that’s just not what you wanna do.”
I… couldn’t breathe, let alone respond to the fact that Rashad’s hand was at my waist now. He was touching me, but I quickly deemed it not intimate, because the thin fabric of my shirt was between us. But then… his warm palm was against my bare skin, and the way he dug his fingers into flesh surely wasn’t not intimate. Then his hand was on my face, cupping my chin, slipping under my collar to caress my neck, and he was lowering his face to brush my lips with his.
“Tell that lie again, B.” His voice was low, husky as he pushed my jacket from my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a heap around my feet. My brain hadn’t even started processing a response before his mouth was on mine, gently tugging my bottom lip between his teeth before he sucked it, nipped it again, then kissed away the sting.
“Say it,” he murmured against my lips. But how the hell was I supposed to think straight when his nimble fingers were making quick work of my buttons, and what seemed to be less than a second later, I was down to my bra? “Say it, Bianca,” he insisted. “Tell me you don’t wanna be here. Tell me you wanna leave. Tell me you want me to stop touching you, and I will. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t wanna do, so… just tell me. I’m listening.”